


First Name Basis

by Mecha_Maid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Infidelity, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mecha_Maid/pseuds/Mecha_Maid
Summary: Oh, so we're on a first name basis now..?Amélie purred only in her head, no matter how badly she wanted to say it aloud to the good doctor.Amélie was everything that Gérard had described her to be: beautiful, graceful, andtall....in other words: A chance meeting leads to a little something more than either woman expected.





	1. I Think I Have a Crush

The ticking of the clock was a droning disturbance filling Amélie's ears, interrupted only by the rustling of paper from her book each time she turned the page or her own occasional disparaging sigh.

She was bored out of her mind, quite frankly, and not even this trashy French romance novel she had decided to bring along with her could remedy that.

_Where was he?_

Exhaling impatiently through her nose, Amélie lifted her amber eyes from the contents of her reading material to the far wall where the vintage analog clock continued to click.

It had scarcely been five minutes since the last time she checked.

Sighing again, she returned her attention to her lap, shifting in the cushioned chair that she had settled herself in. This book was truly dreadful.

She missed Paris. She missed her ballet company, the routines, her fellow dancers, the spotlight.

She missed Gérard. She had not seen her husband in three entire months, and of course, now that she was here, at the very headquarters of his organization, he _still_ kept her waiting.

 _Overwatch, Overwatch, Overwatch._ It was always Overwatch with him. He spent more time with his work that his own damn wife.

Amélie was tired of playing second fiddle to Overwatch, but.. Gérard had always dreamed of being a hero, and how she could deny him that? He gushed over the work he was doing, the _good_ Overwatch was doing to the world, and she just did not have it in her heart to burst his bubble no matter how bitter she was. 

She was lonely though. She was lonely back home all the time, laying in their bed all by herself while he was off fighting terrorist organizations and risking his life.

She was lonely right now, in fact.

Grimacing, the French woman used her index finger to scratch at the corner of her mouth, lifting her eyes from the page that she had been staring at blankly for the past minute.

The lounge was completely empty, it was just her, her terrible romance novel, various kitchen appliances, and other furniture. The headquarters of Overwatch was surprisingly vacant, but perhaps she had just decided to visit for the first time on the worst possible day, while _everyone_ was out saving the world.

She had only met one genuine Overwatch member so far, the girl that had led her through the building's labyrinth of hallways and rooms to this very lounge.

Cadet Oxton had been a sweet girl with an absolutely adorable but slightly annoying cockney accent, and Amélie kind of missed her right now. She would rather be fighting to get a word in with the peppy Brit than dying of boredom with nothing but this atrocious romance novel to occupy her time. But of course, the girl had actual duties to attend to. Overwatch called, and she answered, leaving Amélie to herself to wait for Gérard's return.

Amélie was tired of waiting, and she was starting to wish that she had not come at all. She should have made Gérard come to _her_ , back to Paris, instead of traveling all the way out to Switzerland to see him.

Exhaling angrily through her teeth, Amélie, propped her elbow onto the arm rest of her chair and used the tip of her index finger to massage at her temple. She was tired of.. _this_. Whatever their relationship was anymore...

Suddenly, Amélie took notice of the little dark splotch that was on the wall to her right.

That had not been there before. _What was that?_

Squinting, the French woman leaned forward a bit to better make out whatever the dot was.

It was a spider, a tangle of long hairy legs attached to a fuzzy middle, its bunch of beady eyes piercing into her from where she sat.

_When I was a girl, I had a fear of spiders..._

Immediately, Amélie shot out of her seat, the novel slipping off her legs and banging loudly onto the hardwood floor beneath her. Manicured nails dug into the upholstery of the chair, and every inch of her went rigid as she looked wide-eyed at the arachnid.

She had always been afraid of spiders. She was _still_ afraid of spiders, and of course there was one here, _now_. Could her day possibly be going any worse?

She breathed in sharply when the little devil started moving, tracking it as it crawled down the wall and toward the floor. When it touched the hardwood, she hissed out a single: " _Merde_."

She was going to kill that little bastard.

Amélie bent down to grab the fallen romance novel, and clutching it in her now sweaty palms, she tensed up as the spider came nearer. When it was about two feet away from her, she lunged, slamming the book down onto the floor and producing a harsh _crack_. But she missed, and the little asshole scurried out of reach.

" _Come back here!_ " Amélie barked at it in French, her heels clicking hastily across the wooden floor as she pursued it.

The spider disappeared beneath an end table next to the only couch in the lounge, but her stomping scared it into shooting out from underneath it and onto the linoleum of the kitchen area.

Along the way in her pursuit of it, Amélie's hip caught the end of that end table, and she flinched when pain blossomed in the area and an ear-splitting shattering sound soon followed. Glancing worriedly over her shoulder, Amélie cradled her side with one of her palms and growled to herself when she saw what she had done.

A half-drunken mug of coffee had been on the table, and she had knocked it off, covering the hardwood with scattered pieces of white ceramic and day-old drink.

Air hissing past her teeth, Amélie stabbed the spider with a frosty glare from where it was, in front of the sink in the kitchen area.

" _Oh, you're dead!_ " She threatened it in French, securing the novel in both of her hands.

The spider tried scurrying away when she neared, but she had finally cornered it, and the French woman viciously threw her book down onto the arachnid.

Satisfied that it had not escaped this time, Amélie paused for a moment to revel in her victory, on her knees with her two palms pressed firmly into the back of the novel. She was even considering a triumphant chuckle to celebrate her success, when the door to the lounge exploded open.

Amélie's head snapped in the direction of the disturbance.

In the doorway was a disheveled-looking, but undeniably pretty blonde woman. She was wearing a white lab coat over her light grey turtleneck sweater, her pale hair put up in a messy ponytail, and her eyes wide as they swept around the room, before landing on Amélie.

With those stunning blue eyes upon her, Amélie began to feel heat rising in her cheeks. She must look like quite the fool, hunched over on the floor with a squashed spider underneath her trashy book, and what if.. what if the woman had heard what she was saying? She must think Amélie was insane, screaming at a spider and breaking things trying to kill it.

Regardless, the French woman attempted to salvage her dignity by straightening her back and elegantly pulling herself to her full height, holding the unfamiliar woman's questioning gaze the entire time.

 _This is mortifying!_ Amélie screamed inwardly, pressing her lips into a tight line while she awaited whatever question the blonde woman surely had for her.

"Uhm.." The blonde began softly, lowering her hands from their places on either side of the doorway she stood in. Her confused expression melted into a gentle smile, a smile that made Amélie's stomach flutter. "I heard yelling and a crash. Are you.. okay...?"

This woman's disposition was so.. calming. Amélie felt like she could confess anything and everything to this stranger right here and now.

Her perplexity no doubt all over her expression, Amélie let her eyes roam from the blonde woman's face to the rest of her.

Her attention was instantly caught by the name tag on the other woman's chest. It read "Dr. Ziegler", and the name clicked something within Amélie's brain.

 _The_ Doctor Angela Ziegler. Overwatch's head surgeon, resident miracle worker, and medical genius. Gérard had told her much of Dr. Ziegler, and here Amélie had finally met her... after chasing down a stupid little spider and destroying someone's property in the process.

_This is certainly a stellar first impression..._

Amélie sighed jadedly, and it earned her an endearingly concerned look from Dr. Ziegler. 

The French woman's gaze fell to her feet, where the romance novel lay on the floor, then she glanced guiltily at the broken mug on the hardwood and the puddle of coffee it rested in.

"I.. am terribly sorry. I had a bit of an... _accident_ trying to kill a spider." She explained in heavily accented English, using one of her hands to gesture to the ruined coffee mug.

Feeling as if her face were on fire, Amélie left the kitchen area and approached the doctor, holding the blonde woman's eyes along the way. She was starting to feel rather lightheaded at the gentleness and kindness that practically radiated off of this woman.

That lightness drained from her head and into her heart at the soft laugh that Dr. Ziegler responded with, and with those blue eyes sparkling due to her smile, Amélie couldn't help but grin back at the other woman.

"You were making that much of a fuss over a spider?" The doctor asked breathlessly, holding one of her hands over her heart.

Her humiliation had all but evaporated, but Amélie could not explain the dizziness she was experiencing at the moment. She.. she had not felt this way in some time, not since she had first crossed paths with Gérard, she realized.

Chuckling nervously, Amélie forced herself to break eye contact with Dr. Ziegler to peer down at her own hands while she wrung them. "It was a very big spider..."

"Understandable." The doctor replied cheerily, and Amélie lifted her downcast gaze. Dr. Ziegler's lovely face was practically glowing with mirth. "More importantly.. you are Amélie Lacroix, are you not? Gérard's wife?"

At the mention of Gérard, Amélie felt her forthcoming expression sour, but as quickly as it changed, she smoothed her features out.

Is that all she was, just Gérard's wife?

"Ah, yes," She replied, overpowering her instinct to swoop in with a French greeting, and extending her open hand to the doctor. Dr. Ziegler accepted the gesture, and Amélie noted the surprising roughness of the other woman's palm before continuing.

"It is a pleasure, Doctor Ziegler. Gérard has told me much of you." As they shook hands, Amélie watched the blonde woman purse her lips.

"Only good things, I hope?" Dr. Ziegler asked after they had let go of each other, one of her brows quirking.

She sounded almost worried about that fact, and Amélie had to stop herself from bursting into laughter. She never would have thought that she could associate this "medical genius" with the word _cute_ , but.. here she was.

"Overwatch's angel.." Amélie drawled teasingly in reply, and she was rewarded with a blossoming of pink in both of the doctor's cheeks. It was very easy to fluster Ziegler, it seemed. "It was hard to _not_ be impressed."

Dr. Ziegler laughed lowly and shakily, using her fingers to fiddle with the rim of the right sleeve of her lab coat.

"I-I'm sure Gérard exaggerated most of whatever he told you.. but.. _Danke_ ," She flashed a genial smile at the French woman, and Amélie was flooded with a strange sense of triumph. "It is nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Lacroix."

Amélie felt her expression deflate for the second time since the start of this conversation.

Oh no, that _Mrs. Lacroix_ drivel would not do.

Trying to not roll her eyes, as it would probably come off wrongly in the perspective of the doctor, Amélie waved her hand back and forth dismissively.

"Oh, there is no need for that Mrs. Lacroix nonsense. Please, call me Amélie." She requested coyly, and feeling a surge of confidence, she switched out of her casual posture to prop one of her hands on her hip.

Her coquettish tone earned her another blush from the doctor, and Amélie felt her smile stretch. Ziegler was so unbearably adorable when she was flustered. Amélie was glad that she had discovered this.. because she planned on wringing as much amusement out of it as she could.

"As you wish..." Dr. Ziegler replied, the nervousness leaving her expression. Her entire body relaxed, the amiable smile painting her lips growing even sweeter. "..in that case, call me Angela."

 _Oh, so we're on a first name basis now..?_ Amélie purred only in her head, no matter how badly she wanted to say it aloud to the good doctor. 

She was just _dying_ to find out what kind of reaction the already flustered blonde woman would give. 

Instead, the French woman chuckled faintly, tilting her head to the side and lifting her chin somewhat haughtily. The action caused her to see the mess she had made in the corner of her eye, and Amélie's smirk dropped. There were still pieces of ceramic and coffee all over the floor. She couldn't just leave it like that.

"Ah.. I should probably-" She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the mess. "..clean that up."

Abandoning Angela in the ajar doorway of the lounge, Amélie turned on her heel and stopped at the edge of the puddle. Crouching down, she was in the process of reaching toward the nearest fragment of the broken mug with her bare fingers when someone's hand closed around her wrist.

Amélie froze at the contact, inhaling sharply when Angela was suddenly there by her side. The hand that had stopped her belonged to the doctor, who had joined her crouching on the floor.

The blonde's face was _so_ close to her own, when Amélie turned her head to face the other woman.

"Careful," Angela warned her in a pleasant voice, releasing the hold she had on the French woman's wrist. "You wouldn't want to cut yourself. I'll go get a broom and help you." The blonde woman offered just as brightly, rising to her feet.

Angela left her there, kneeling on the hardwood floor of the lounge, and Amélie watched her go without a word.

 _Oh no._ Was all she could think with a sinking feeling of dread. _I.. think.. I think I have a crush._


	2. Me, Too...

After hearing all the praise that her colleague had showered upon his amazing, wonderful, fantastic wife, Angela was starting to suspect that the woman didn't even exist, or that she was maybe some kind of goddess walking among men.

Gérard was so obviously in love with that woman, it was adorable. And understandable, now that Angela had see her with her own two eyes.

Amélie was everything that Gérard had described her to be: beautiful, graceful, and _tall_.

Angela was used to being looked down upon, what with Jack and Gabriel always towering over her, but Amélie.. it was different. It was intimidating. Well, to be fair, everything about Amélie was striking in some way.

She had that effortless poise of a dancer, every movement she made practically oozing sensuality and confidence. Her amber eyes were so intense, with the sharpness of a feline's, almost predatory. And her smile... Amélie smiled that little smile like she knew something that Angela did not.

Angela was.. intrigued, she realized. Amélie was very interesting, and she had not even known the other woman for 10 whole minutes yet.

She wanted to learn more about this enigmatic French woman, she wanted to speak with her for hours on end, drowning in that alluring accent and discovering what made Amélie Lacroix who she was.

She... she was supposed to be going to fetch a broom.

Angela inhaled sharply, blinking several times where she stood in the middle of the hallway. How long had she been standing here, only a few feet from the lounge's door, lost in her own head?

The doctor lifted her palms and buried her face in them, sighing quietly.

That was right. Amélie had broken a mug in the lounge, _chasing a spider_. Her hands still covering her face, Angela's shoulders shook with a soft chuckle.

What an interesting first meeting. Angela had always thought she'd meet Amélie with Gérard draped all over her, perhaps showing her off to Overwatch with the biggest grin on his face. She would have never imagined that _that_ was where their introduction would come from.

When she had been on her way towards the lounge to make herself a desperately needed cup of coffee, Angela had no idea that Amélie was even in Headquarters. She'd heard the crash first, and then a muffled yell. Her French was mediocre at best, but Angela thought that Amélie had shouted _"I'm going to kill you!"_.

She must have really been lonely. How long had she been waiting in there?

Lowering her arms back to her sides, Angela forced herself to get moving, and she started down the pristine white hallway.

Gérard was due back from his latest mission any day now, Angela remembered as she walked, a pensive expression on her face. That must have been why Amélie was here.

How dreadful that she had been left all alone in that lounge to wait for him.

Angela approached the door of a maintenance closet, and pulled it open. The doctor grabbed the handle of the nearest broom propped against the inside, and closed it again.

She still had things to get done, papers to file, studying to do, experiments to conduct with her nanotechnology... but Amélie seemed like she really needed company right now. Angela couldn't stand the thought of leaving her to herself again until Gérard returned.

And besides, she _really_ needed that cup of coffee. She'd been awake for 36 hours straight, and the good doctor had no such plans on settling down even before Amélie had come into the picture.

 _I hope I don't look as exhausted as I feel._ She thought to herself, now coming up on the door to the lounge, the broom still in hand.

She felt like garbage, quite honestly, and Angela was struck with a sudden sense of insecurity. The hand that had been reaching for the door handle hesitated.

Amélie was so beautiful, self-assured, and refined... while Angela was the perfect definition of a hot mess with her plain old lab coat and unkempt hair.

Sighing once more, the doctor used her free hand to rub underneath her left eye, trying to wipe the fatigue away.

That hardly mattered now, what _did_ matter was making sure Amélie was not by herself. Unfortunately, Angela was not the best conversationalist, but she _was_ willing to make more of an effort than usual for Amélie's sake.

She secured the doorknob in her hand, and pushed it open with the broom held out in front of her.

Amélie was in the exact spot that Angela had left her, though now she stood with her ankles crossed over the other and her arms wrapped loosely around herself. It was an odd way to stand, but Amélie managed to make it look good using the practiced ease that she carried herself with.

The look on the French woman's face was worrisome; her eyes were a thousand miles away, and a frown created creases on her forehead, but the troubled expression only lasted a second before Amélie glanced Angela's way and it was replaced by a warm smile.

"Angela." Was all she said in greeting, and the doctor felt butterflies in her stomach. She liked it when Amélie said her name. _Was that.. was that weird?_ It was probably weird. What was going on with her today?

Suppressing the intruding fluttery feeling, Angela plastered on the most sincere smile she could manage, and approached the other woman.

"Sorry for the wait," She apologized while offering the broom to Amélie. "Here you are."

" _Merci_." Amélie's expression softened, and she untangled her arms to reach for its handle. In process of taking the broom from her, her fingers brushed Angela's, and the blonde doctor experienced a little jolt that almost made her jump like she'd been electrocuted.

She managed to stop herself from flinching, but the soft gasp that escaped her was an automatic reaction.

Thankfully, Amélie did not take notice, and Angela quickly backed off while the French woman began tending to scattered pieces of ceramic all over the hardwood floor.

 _Mein Gott. What is wrong with me?_ The doctor crossed her arms, her fingernails digging into her biceps.

It.. it was nothing. She was sleep-deprived and out of sorts. That had been nothing.

Shaking her head briefly, Angela blinked once and watched as Amélie gathered the shards of the demolished coffee mug. She wondered whose mug that had been. It was probably hers, she had a thousand of those things laying in odd places all over Headquarters.

But what if it had been _that_ mug?

Squinting, Angela tried to make out any kind of markings on the jagged chunks of ceramic, and she smiled ruefully when she saw fragmented letters on some of them.

It was that mug, the one Lena had given her for her last birthday. On it in big, blocky letters had been the words _"World's Best Mom"_ , but Lena had crossed out _Mom_ with a permanent marker and written out _Doctor_. Angela had really liked that mug, but, oh well.

Of all people who could have broken it, Amélie was the easiest to forgive right now.

Her teeth digging into her lower lip, Angela padded toward the kitchen area, still hugging herself tightly. She stopped in front of the sink, observing over the granite counter top as Amélie made a coffee-stained pile of the broken mug.

Amélie looked.. sad. The realization hit Angela like a speeding train, and she was overcome with the powerful urge to make it better right then and there. It was in her nature to help people, and conquering the anxiety that was building in her chest, Angela broke the silence that fallen between them.

"How long have you been waiting in here, Amélie?" She asked, tilting her head.

Undisturbed by the abrupt attempt at conversation, Amélie huffed, her amber eyes narrowing as they shifted toward the clock on the wall. "Hours. Gérard should be returning today, should he not?"

Angela nodded, raising her fingers to sweep away the blonde bangs that had escaped her hair tie. Ugh, her ponytail was coming undone. She _really_ was a disaster right now.

Amélie did not say anything else, her sour expression only worsening as she went back to sweeping.

 _What can I do? She's obviously upset..._ The doctor pondered to herself, absentmindedly tapping her bottom lip with her index finger. The best that Angela could offer was her companionship, but she was not sure how valuable that was.

"W-would you.. like to join me for tea?" Flustered by her own stuttering, Angela was sure that her face was now tinged pink. "To wait.. I mean-" She inhaled sharply, lowering her hand to grip the rim of the counter. "I'll wait with you." The doctor added hastily, puffing out her cheeks in frustration.

 _Gah_ , curse her awkwardness. She was making a complete fool of herself, most likely. Why in the world would Amélie, tasteful, gorgeous Amélie, want to spend her time with a socially inept, workaholic like Angela?

The other woman kept her eyes to the floor, and Angela was certain that she was going to burst with embarrassment, until Amélie broke into _that_ grin. That clever, sharp grin flooded the doctor with relief, but Amélie's words were even more reassuring.

"I'd love that, Angela."

And that was how Gérard discovered the two of them hours later, chatting, laughing, and enjoying their respective drinks with one another. Earl Grey tea for Amélie, and of course, Angela had her coffee, but it had long since grown cold as she went adrift in conversation with Amélie.

Angela watched as the couple embraced, shared a kiss, and then prepared to leave. She watched as Amélie was led away by her arm by her ecstatic husband, but the French woman ignored Gérard's rambling in favor of glancing over her shoulder back at the doctor. Amélie gave her a lazy wave with her free hand, and she _smiled_.

Angela was paralyzed, her knuckles most likely white due to how tightly she was holding the granite edge of the counter, and she just watched as Amélie and Gérard disappeared through the lounge door.

 _I have a crush on my colleague's wife._ Angela hooked her fingers through the handle of her cup, and took a long, contemplative sip of her coffee. _Shit._


	3. It's A Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So... I know I said I didn't really want to continue this.. but I lied. I do. I want to write Mercymaker shipping trash.**

Angela felt like she was going to die, but perhaps she was overly falsifying the severity of her discomfort.

 _She felt like utter hell_  may have been more appropriate.

Her weary eyes were burning, her lids as heavy as lead, and her fatigued body was begging for rest. Her spine was also aching from the position she had jackknifed herself into: hunched over her desk while she slaved over endless,  _endless_  piles of medical reports.

Every stroke of her pen that painted ink onto the documents left her feeling like she could collapse face-first to her desk any moment, but the tenacious doctor refused to stop.

 _If I finish all these tonight, I'll have more time to do other activities tomorrow_ , Angela reasoned with herself, but sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she paused her progress on the two-hundredth something of the reports.  _And.. maybe.. Maybe some rest._

She certainly needed it.

Angela began again on the document, and chuckled weakly when she recognized her own hypocrisy.

For all the scolding she did to her colleagues to take care of themselves, here she was running her own self right into the ground nearly night after night. Angela didn't think she had gotten a full, healthy night's sleep in months now. She should really start taking her own advice. 

 _Oh well…_  The doctor merely shrugged off her bad habit, and squinted down at the paper.

Ah, her vision was becoming a little blurry, one of the first signs of sleep deprivation.

Angela blinked harshly several times to clear the clouds from her eyes.

 _Just one more hour.._  She persuaded her exhausted body and mind, and continued to write.

When the door to her office suddenly burst open, Angela jerked so badly that her pen slipped from her grip, fell to the floor, and slid across the tile.

Who in the world could be interrupting her at this hour? It couldn't have been that someone was injured.. They would have radioed in before bringing the patient to her.

The doctor raised her tired eyes to the silhouette now standing in the medbay's doorway.

Her unexpected visitor approached, the soft yellow light from the floor lamp on her right illuminating the smiling face of Gérard Lacroix.

"Gérard!" She gasped softly and a little hoarsely, her voice scratching up her sore throat.

"Angie.." The French man tsked playfully at her, scooping up her fallen pen and coming up to the desk. He held it out to her by its end. "You didn't keep yourself up all night working, did you?" He asked, then flashed a genial smile at the doctor.

Angela blinked languidly up at him, before carefully retrieving her pen from his hold using her index finger and thumb.

 _All night…_  had she really done this to herself again?

"Um…" She hummed in response, laying the writing utensil onto the surface of her desk, and using the movement to steal a glance at the face of her wristwatch.

_7 AM… God, Angela!_

Gérard chuckled smoothly above her, and she allowed her eyes to close for a second as she drew in a deep inhale.

"Oh, Angela... " He said, and the doctor peered up at him as he shook his head back and forth. "You're going to work yourself to death at this rate."

 _Oh believe me, I know.._  She grouched internally.

Gérard set his palm down over the document in front of her, and leaned closer. "..And we can't have that because," He splayed his palm out in front of her face, which the doctor regarded with a perplexed expression. "I need your cell phone." He requested, wiggling his fingers.

In her sleep-deprived haze, Angela's body moved automatically, reaching for the device tucked snugly into one of the side pockets of her lab coat.

"Why..?" She inquired slowly as she placed her phone into her colleague's hand, after unlocking it with her fingerprint.

His lips splitting into one of his usual dazzling grins, Gérard drew it toward his face and began typing something into it. Angela observed, one of her eyebrows quirking as she watched him go through a myriad of emotions: excitement, happiness, and finally, satisfaction.

"To give you Amélie's number, of course." He replied casually, offering her cellphone back, the screen facing toward her.

Angela's already scattered mind came to a screeching halt at the mention of that name.  _That_  name:  _Amélie_... Oh, it had been weeks since she had last seen her newly acquainted "friend", hadn't she? She certainly hadn't  _forgotten_  about the stunning French woman, that was simply not possible.

Amélie had been lurking in the back of her mind this entire time, but Angela had suppressed her irritatingly budding emotions by losing herself in her work. Now, all that effort was unraveling, it was doomed the moment that Amélie was even mentioned.

Freshly ignited eagerness was buzzing within her stomach as Angela reclaimed her phone, her blue eyes piercing into the name spelled out in neat text over its bright screen.

_Amélie Lacroix._

"Ame's been hounding me for weeks now about it," Gérard chuckled to himself, and Angela listened to him without taking her attention off of the screen. Her thumb hovered over the call icon. "She was simply devastated that she forgot to ask you for it the last time you were together."

Really..? Did.. did Amélie really desire to keep in touch with her that badly?

Every muscle in Angela's hand clenched as she restrained herself from pressing the bright green icon. It was just  _begging_  her to be touched, but..

 _Urgh, get it together Angela._  Amélie was a married woman, married to one of her most valued friends. The good doctor could not risk losing control of herself over this silly little "crush" that she harbored for the other woman. She couldn't... she couldn't do that to Gérard.

Angela tore her eyes off the screen of her phone to look at the man, putting the device in sleep mode with her pointer finger as she did.

"Thank you, Gérard, I appreciate it." She told him while pulling open the nearest drawer in her desk and slipping her phone inside of it.

_Out of sight, out of mind._

Gérard stepped back from the edge of her desk, lifting his hand from the document he had been covering and practically beaming at her.

"Of course, Angie. I'm glad that you and Amélie hit it off as well as you did, she's been gushing about you for days now and badgering me for details." The French man laughed heartily, using the heel of one of his hands to wipe at the corners of his eyes.

Angela froze, her lips pursing.

"D-details?" She stuttered, her fingernails biting into her skin with how tightly she was clenching her fists.

Oh no, oh  _Scheisse_! What had Gérard shared about her? The questionable mechanics of her latest nanotech experiments? The Caduceus Staff? Her Valkyrie Suit? Her involvement with the fate of Genji Shimada as a living weapon?!

"I showed her that picture of you and Torbjörn at the Halloween Party a couple of years ago. She nearly busted a lung when she saw that Witch costume you were in."

 _Oh._  That.  _Mein Gott,_ these Lacroixs were more likely to be the death of her than her tendency to overwork herself.

The doctor let out a soft, relieved breath, her hands uncurling themselves and one of them finding a resting place over her heart.

_Deep breaths, Angela..._

"Anyway, I should be getting back to work before Gabriel gets on my ass, it was good to see you Angela." Gérard huffed, then giving her a warm smile, waved once and started toward the door.

Angela lifted her eyes to focus on his back as he walked away.

"Be safe!" She called instinctively after him, a farewell she usually reserved for when one of her colleagues was heading off on the latest mission.

Her office door clicked shut, and the weary doctor was left to herself.

At least, she hoped she would be left to herself, but at the moment a muffled buzzing noise sounded from her desk, and she yelped in alarm, lurching into the backboard of her rolling chair.

It was her phone, she realized, and gritting her teeth, Angela yanked open the drawer and picked up the device. Its screen brightened, stinging her pupils as the doctor read the message displayed on her lock screen.

_**-** Is this you, Angela?_

...That was certainly quick.

Angela unlocked her phone and went to her messages to type out her response:

_It is, Amélie?-_

It took mere seconds for the other woman to respond.

_-Ah, it has been too long, ma chérie. I have been trying to get ahold of you for weeks now, didn't you know?_

_I apologize for the inconvenience, Amélie. Gérard just stopped by to give me your number.-_

_-It is so very like him to forget, but at least he's finally done it. I'd like to ask a favor of you, Angela._

_Oh..?_ The doctor pondered to herself, one of her eyebrows arching as she typed:

_Yes, what do you need?-_

_-I am in desperate need of a tour guide, you see. Zürich is a very confusing place._

A tour guide? Why would Amélie..

Angela gasped softly, bending over to bring her face even closer to the screen.  _Was Amélie in Zürich right now?_

_You are in Zürich? I thought you returned home?-_

_-Zürich is home now, Doctor. I sold our apartment in Paris to move here._

Angela blinked dully down at the bright screen of her phone, gripping its edges in a vice hold. Anxiety was worming its way up her throat from her stomach, and she swallowed thickly.

So Amélie was here, in Switzerland now, living in the city that served as the Headquarters of her organization. Wonderful.

 _Lady Fate, how you torture me so.._  The doctor groaned internally, typing her message at a snail's pace.

_Oh. Well, I'd be delighted to show you around, Amélie.-_

_-Excellent. It's a date, then._

The doctor sputtered once her eyes had finished processing the French woman's reply, and she nearly lost her hold on her cell phone.

Scrambling to keep it from crashing into the ground, Angela lurched forward from her chair, and landed heavily onto the surface of her desk with her elbows. Papers were thrown from it, fluttering gently down to the floor and forming haphazard piles.

Wincing as pain lanced up her arms, she hung her head over the cursed device.

A date. A date..?  _Why, Amélie, why would you say such a thing?_

Blowing a heavy breath out through her teeth, Angela composed herself, and with shaking fingers she responded:

_Yes, it seems it is.-_


	4. I'm Not Obsessed

Amélie was not obsessed.

What she was doing was not borderline-stalkerish either. Maybe.

Either way one wished to look at it, what Amélie was doing was watching a very cute, hopelessly apprehensive blonde woman search for her in the sea of faces that occupied the café.

Perhaps it was a little cruel of her to play with the doctor like this, since she had been the one to set up their "date" in the first place, but Amélie could not help herself.

She hadn't seen Angela in weeks now, and for some inexplicable reason she was feeling like an addict on withdrawal. Restless, irritable, and craving  _something_. In this case,  _someone_.

She sought just a little more time to study the doctor in detail without being judged for it. Someone who happened to pass by and catch the predatory look on her face might do that anyway, but what Amélie worried about here was Angela's judgement.

She didn't want to scare the doctor off, she just.. (how cliché of her) wanted to enjoy the view.

The doctor cleaned up nicely, for one, and Amélie was simply trying to get used to it so she wouldn't be blatantly staring during their future conversations.

Black leggings, sparkling clean running shoes, and that gray turtleneck that the doctor must have been rather fond of. A beige scarf also hung around her neck.

Simple, but Angela could make anything look good, even a drab lab coat, Amélie had learned.

The doctor's once unkempt hair was down this time, her bangs hanging over her eyes and her blonde locks swaying around her head.

Amélie felt like she was looking at a completely different person, though Angela was just as adorable as she had been when she was bumbling over herself and radiating exhaustion at their first meeting.

 _I think I've kept her waiting long enough._  Chuckling softly to herself, Amélie stepped out from behind the obnoxious decorative fern she had been hiding behind and began weaving through the café toward the blonde woman.

Ziegler stood at the large window by the door, a hand to her chin as she most likely combed the patio area for Amélie.

The French woman approached with the fluid grace of a cat, and the silence of one too. She stepped up behind the doctor, and slowly, extended her pointer finger to poke the blonde right in between her shoulder blades.

Angela made some sort of yelping noise, her shoulders drawing up as she whirled around to face Amélie.

Smiling impishly, Amélie soaked in the other woman's shocked expression and beautiful, wide blue eyes.

"Amélie?" Angela gasped.

Puffing with laughter past her teeth, Amélie swooped down and cupped the doctor's cheeks to deliver a friendly French greeting, her lips brushing so tantalizingly close over Angela's skin.

The blonde stood ramrod straight during the entire process, and there was a rather spellbound look on her face when Amélie stepped back.

Suppressing the smirk that was threatening to stretch her lips, Amélie brushed back her long ponytail that had fallen over her shoulder and propped her hand upon her hip in a single, elegant motion.

"Hello,  _ma chérie_. It is delightful to see you again." She told the doctor, flashing her teeth in a genuine grin.

Angela blinked several times, raised one her hands to her mouth, and cleared her throat daintily while nodding.

Her bemused expression melted into that benevolent smile she wore so well. "Yes, you too Amélie."

"Shall we?" The French woman gestured to the counter, where a line was quickly forming. They'd be spending their entire evening in this café if they didn't start catching up now. Amélie still expected that tour, too.

Receiving yet another nod from the blonde, the two of them approached the counter, ordered their preferred drinks, and took one of the small, two-seater tables by the window.

Angela was the first to start the conversation between them, and it was a little startling to Amélie as she slowly twirled her plastic spoon in her tea to stir the leaves up from the bottom. She had figured that the timid blonde would wait for her to speak.

"So.. you moved to Zürich. It is a charming place, but so busy. Why did you choose it?"

Amélie lifted her eyes from the rippling surface of her tea to meet the doctor's gaze.

_Why had she come to Zürich?_

Amélie breathed quietly out of her nose, fully aware that her window to reply was rapidly closing, and she needed to provide an answer before her silence became too awkward.

She had come to Switzerland for Angela. She had thrown her entire life in Paris away for this woman, this one woman who she had only met once before making such a crucial decision.

All because of this.. ridiculous...  _crush_. She was married, for fuck's sake, what was she doing?!

She could not admit the truth to the doctor, though, so instead, Amélie suppressed her inner turmoil and replied:

"Gérard will be a lot easier to catch if I live in the city that serves as the headquarters of his work, no?" Plastering on a confident, cat-like smile, she canted her head to the side.

The doctor offered a smile of her own in return, soft and understanding, but it was hidden by her mug when she brought it to her mouth to take a sip of her coffee.

Amélie's eyes lingered far longer than was appropriate on Angela's mouth when she pulled the cup away, and swiped her tongue over her top lip to get rid of the line of whipped cream that her drink had left.

"A good reason, then." The blonde's voice jarred Amélie back to reality, and the French woman snapped her attention further upward. Angela had turned her head to peer out the window. She looked and sounded strangely melancholy. " I must admit I do not know this city  _that_  well, so acting as your tour guide may be a bit of a challenge."

Ludicrous. How in the world could the good doctor be unfamiliar with Zürich? She lived here!

Amélie propped her elbow onto their table to rest her cheek in one of her palms. With her other hand, she used her finger to trace the rim of her tea cup. "But you live here, doctor! How do you not even know your own city?"

Angela appeared to become rather bashful as she slid her own hands forward to cup them fully around her coffee mug.

"I.. uh.. I do not get out much, I suppose. I spend more nights in my office at Headquarters than my own apartment."

Ah yes, she was not a world-renowned medical genius for nothing. Angela just gave that impression that she had a determined mind and a drive to discover and work, so.. Amélie supposed she could not be surprised that she was also a shut-in.

She gasped mockingly, as if she was scandalized, but Amélie grinned at the doctor afterward.

"You're that dedicated to your work? What exactly do you do?" She asked with honest curiosity, arching one of her eyebrows.

She  _was_  interested in what Angela did, actually. A woman like her must have a thousand stories to tell, and Amélie had been told that she was a marvelous listener.

She was glad that she had asked such a thing, because as soon as the words left her mouth, Angela visibly brightened. The blonde's posture straightened, her shoulders pushed back, and a natural confidence seeped into her voice.

"Well, actually..." The doctor promptly started to ramble about her latest projects, experiments, and discoveries, and every single bit of medical jargin went straight over Amélie's head, but she could have hardly cared.

Angela was so  _passionate_. Amélie could see the love for her livelihood gleaming in her stunning blue eyes, and the joy that was weaved into her every word... it was admirable.

The French woman was finally able to tune back into their one-sided conversation when Gérard was mentioned.

"Ugh," Angela had huffed in exasperation, "Just this morning when Gérard stopped by to give me your phone number he also gave me the scare of my life. He said he had given details to you about me, and I had no idea what embarrassing things he had shared," The doctor laughed weakly, using her fingers to rub at her forehead as if the memory pained her to recall. "It happened to be just a very compromising photo, but that wasn't much of a relief, honestly."

 _Oh!_  Yes, yes, _that_  photo.

Amélie was unable to stop the positively devilish smirk she felt curling the ends of her mouth as she reached for her purse that was hung over the back of her chair. Angela threw a perplexed glance her way, but Amélie got only a glimpse of it as she set the bag onto the tabletop and opened it.

She grabbed the end of a piece of paper that was sticking out of one of the inside pockets, and pulled it free.

She carried a picture of Angela around in her purse. So what? It was a glorious picture.

It wasn't strange that Amélie used her thumb to block out Lindholm when she took it out every now and then to appreciate it. Not creepy at all.

Feeling Angela's eyes upon her, Amélie took her sweet time in turning the picture around so that it faced the doctor.

"You mean..  _this_  photograph?" She drawled teasingly, holding it up between them.

The doctor's every muscle went rigid, her eyes growing comically wide as she took in the sight before her.

" _Y-you printed it!?_ " She asked faintly, her strangled words leaving her breathless.

Amélie didn't deny her laughter, chuckling smoothly while she flipped her pride and joy back around so that she could continue marveling at it.

"Ah, yes. It is quite the gem, you know. I showed it around to anyone in my building who was interested," She looked back up at Angela, and her smile grew a little more wolfish. "They agreed."

The doctor's face was now flushed a delightful pink, and she refused to make eye contact.

"A-Amélie, that picture is the bane of my existence, how could you...?" Angela tried to speak with contempt, but her wavering voice and the smile that she obviously hid behind her mug gave her away.

" _Désolé..._ " Amélie hummed in a condescending manner back at her.

Angela shot her an adorable glare, setting her coffee mug back on the table with a loud clack. "You are  _not_  sorry."

Amélie's poise hit a wall a that point, and she was unable to hide the brief flash of shock in her face.

Oh dear, the doctor knew some French? Amélie was going to have to be twice as careful of what she said around Angela now. She had hoped to be able to use a language barrier between them to purge some of these unrequited feelings.. but now...

No matter. Even if the good doctor did not feel the same, as long as Amélie could go on being her friend.. that was enough. It  _had_  to be enough.

The two women shared a laugh over the whole exchange, and once they had emptied their drinks, they went for the door.

The cool air bit at Amélie's skin when she left the warmth of the café, and with this as an excuse, she leaned toward Angela to link their arms.

The doctor jerked slightly at the abrupt contact, but soon she relaxed into the touch and peered questioningly up at the French woman.

Amélie smiled down at her, and tilting her head, she asked: "Now, about that tour?"


	5. Weightless

Angela was not afraid of heights. She was, however, afraid of falling 12 meters feet-first to the concrete ground below, most likely shattering every bone from the hip down.

The doctor drew in a calming breath, the mechanical wings upon her back shifting because of the movement.

Peering over her shoulder, Angela's lips curled into a soft smile as she bounced on the balls of her feet again to make the wings move again.

The Valkyrie Swift-Response Suit 1.0 was, by all means, ready to take flight.

Angela had confidence in her abilities and her creation, but she couldn't help but fret over the outcome of this little experiment she had decided to do.

Of course, others before her had managed to succeed in creating machines that could lift off the ground and soar like a bird, but they had never attached those machines to themselves and stepped off a platform high in the air, had they?

Angela let out another sharp breath, lowering her eyes to the tips of her heels, then, gradually over the edge of her perch.

She had collected an audience for her test flight in the Training Room. Jack and Gabriel stood far below her, the both of them wearing a strained and worried expression.

Genji Shimada was there too, standing directly in the spot she had marked for her (hopefully) gentle landing.

His expression was rather hard to discern from this far away, especially with the metal face plate concealing his mouth, but Angela could see the lines of concern squinting his red eyes.

Angela couldn't help but huff with amusement, brushing her bottom lip with the tips of her fingers.

He had demanded to come along, promising to "catch" her if anything went wrong.

The doctor's expression of delight quickly fell, and the warmth she felt in her chest dimmed as her insecurities quickly reared their heads to snap at her.

_Don't be foolish. He hasn't forgiven you, just look what you did to him. He probably feels obligated to defend you, that's all._

_No_ , Angela squeezed her eyes shut and lightly shook her head.

Genji had been kind enough to offer his assistance, and Angela appreciated it.

"Doctor Ziegler?" The man himself called from the ground, and the doctor jolted slightly, before leaning forward again to look down at him. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Genji!" She replied, giving a wave with her hand, then stepping back into the position she had been in moments before.

Alright, this was it. The Valkyrie was either going to function properly, or she was going to walk off this platform and plunge into the air like a rock.

Angela stepped off the solid safety of the platform, and fell.

It was a slow descent, and each second that ticked by while she sank like molasses in the open air, the anxiety in her chest lessened.

Gasping in wonder, the doctor allowed her wide eyes to take in her surroundings while she enjoyed the feathery weightlessness of flight.

It was much like viewing the sky while flying in a plane, everything gliding past you, but in this case, everything was gliding down like she was.

It was incredible, she had actually pulled it off!

An indomitable smile now plastered on her mouth, Angela looked down at her gradually approaching destination.

As she neared the ground, the doctor absorbed the surprise on Jack's face, the smirk on Gabriel's, and the light sparkling in Genji's augmented eyes.

She felt proud of herself, Angela decided, stretching her toes outward to prepare for her landing.

It was not needed, though, because Genji stretched his arms upward to catch her just as he said he would.

His bionic hand and flesh one around her waist, Angela deactivated the Valkyrie's wings and allowed him to take her weight, resting one of her own hands upon the cool charcoal colored metal of his right arm for support.

"Angela," He said breathlessly in his tinny voice, carefully placing her back on her own two feet with the click of her heels hitting the concrete. "That was amazing!"

"Thank you, Genji." She replied, unable to contain the giddiness in her voice.

This was excellent! Just think what she could do with this suit! No longer would she have to sit by while her colleagues were out on the field fighting for their lives. She could be there, by their sides ready to heal them.

"Good work, Angie." Jack said to her left, and Angela turned to the sound of his voice.

He had approached, and Gabriel stood at his shoulder, still smirking at her accomplishment.

"Yea, you really take to this angelic imagery shit, don't you?" Gabriel added, flashing his teeth in a rare grin with both his hands in his grey hoodie's pockets.

Immediately Angela began to flush, her cheeks and the tips of her ears no doubt tinged pink as she brought her hand to cover her mouth. "N-No, I-"

But her stuttering excuse was interrupted by the clapping that was suddenly filling the room, ricocheting off the metal walls of the Training Room.

The doctor jerked a little on her feet, and looked to the source of it.

She could feel her heart leap all the way up her throat when she saw Amélie standing there in the doorway, bringing her palms together over and over again with a feline-like smile on her lips. She advanced slowly, purposefully further in to the room until she stood right next to Jack and Gabriel.

Gérard was behind his wife, sporting a much more enthusiastic grin while he trailed after her.

" _Magnifique_." Amélie declared, lowering her arms back to her sides gracefully.

"Yes, that was fantastic, Angela!" Gérard piped up behind her, even giving Angela a thumbs up from over Amélie's shoulder.

Smiling bashfully due to all the praise, Angela could only accept the congratulations in silence, her eyes locked with Amélie's amber ones.

_So Amélie had seen that, huh? What.. what was she even doing here?_

"Nice of you to finally show up, Lacroix," Gabriel said gruffly to the French man, then to Amélie with a nod of his chin: "Hey Amélie."

"Nice to see you, Gérard, Amélie." Jack greeted the pair of them as well before either had the chance to reply.

Angela was reminded of her surroundings when Amélie broke their gaze to acknowledge Gabriel first with a friendly look, then Jack with a small wave of her hand.

Gérard then huffed, stepping around his wife to drape his arm over her shoulders.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" He said cheekily to Gabriel.

" _Hmph._ " Angela puffed in amusement quietly, bringing her hands to rest against her stomach and clasping them together.

Gérard was probably late for some meeting or something of the sort.

" _Tch._ " Gabriel scowled back at him, slipping his hands out of his hoodie to adjust the gray beanie on his head. "We have work to do, if you've forgotten," He looked to Genji, who stood silently at Angela's shoulder. "Come on, kid."

Before she lost her chance, Angela quickly glanced over her shoulder and threw a farewell smile Genji's way, one that she could tell he returned when his red eyes narrowed and brightened as he strode past her.

"Oh, one moment," Amélie stopped the men in their tracks with her voice, and she turned to face Genji. "I do not believe that we have met Mister...?"

The cyborg straightened himself, the various red wires dangling from the back of his head swaying. With his human hand, Genji saluted Amélie while bowing his head curtly. "Shimada Genji. Greetings, Mrs. Lacroix."

"It is a pleasure, Mister Shimada," Amélie returned, maintaining her forthcoming expression.

Genji nodded again, but any other words he would have offered were postponed by Gabriel's order of: "Alright, that's enough with the pleasantries, we need to get going."

"Ah, that reminds me," Gérard cut in, moving behind Amélie and placing his other hand on her opposite shoulder. He steered her toward Angela, who, eyes widening, leaned backward in response to the sudden closeness.

Amélie let herself be moved without complaint, the smile on her face growing sharper, and Angela was getting the feeling that this entire confrontation had been meticulously arranged by a certain someone.

"Angie, would you mind babysitting Amélie again?" Gérard asked her with a splendid, beseeching grin.

The doctor sighed discreetly, her own smile forced and somewhat rueful.

Gérard had no earthly idea what he was doing. How could he? How could he suspect that his trusted friend was lusting after his own wife?

 _Urgh, get it together Angela! Self-control!_  She'd done this before, been alone with Amélie, and she could do it again. For how long, however, Angela was uncertain.

"I wouldn't mind at all." She replied, mentally slapping herself.

_Alright.. I can handle being alone with Amélie again, no problem._

"Great!" Gérard exclaimed, his demeanor similar to that of an over-excited puppy, Angela thought. The French man leaned down to plant a brief kiss to Amélie's cheek, and Angela felt a cold stab of  _something_  within her stomach. "I'll be back soon,  _ma chérie_ , this is just a briefing." He told his wife, then stepped away to follow Gabriel and Genji out the door.

Amélie only watched him go from the corner of her eyes, one side of her mouth quirking higher than the other. She looked positively beside herself. Angela swallowed thickly, anxiety mounting.

The Training Room suddenly felt so very, very small. Something.. something between the two of them was nearly palpable now, and it made Angela uneasy, but it also sent a thrill racing down her spine.

The door slid shut behind Genji, Gabriel, and Gérard, and the room was suddenly as quiet as a graveyard.

Angela jolted slightly, and she glanced around.

It was just she and Amélie now. Where had Jack gone? Had he slipped out while Genji and Amélie were introducing themselves to each other? She had been hoping that she could have used her commander as a buffer.

 _Damn_ , Angela cursed to herself, returning her attention to her "charge".

"Well, doctor," Amélie tilted her head, "What ever do you have planned to pass the time?"

 _What do_ you _have planned, Amélie?_  The doctor mused to herself with no small amount of worry, pursing her lips.

Giving her head a brief shake, Angela plastered on the most sincere smile she could manage.

"First, I need to get out of this," She gestured down at herself, to the Valkyrie suit. Amélie's amber gaze felt disturbingly predatory as she followed the movement with her eyes. Angela experienced a small shudder. "Then.. we shall see."

 _Oh God, help me._  The doctor then thought to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Oops. I lied. Sorry. Anyway, I'm also a Gency fan, if you can't tell.**


	6. Slip of the Tongue

Angela was a literal angel. Or, at least, she certainly looked like one.

Amélie was a little nonplussed when she had first seen the doctor in her fancy, flying get-up. She had wings, and even a halo for God's sake! It was  _so_  ridiculous and  _so_  Angela, Amélie loved it.

Angela had actually  _flown_.. or glided really. Either way, she had created a machine that let her float like a feather, and it was beyond anything Amélie could imagine herself doing, that was for sure.

Though of course, even though she had built this amazing "angel" machine, Angela did not think anything she wore was complete without the heels, did she?

Amélie smirked, unseen by the doctor, due to the fact she was trailing after the blonde and may or may not have been studying her backside as she moved. The heels were a feature she noticed while being mesmerized by the doctor's swaying hips.

They clicked sharply along the tile floor beneath them, Angela striding ahead with a sort of nervous energy about her. Her ponytail bobbed with each step, along with the mechanical wings attached to her back. Strange golden light particles leaked from their fringes, but Amélie paid them no mind. They were probably some sort of byproduct of the hardlight projection that Angela's suit seemed to utilize.

The doctor seemed tense, troubled even, Amélie would say.

Which was understandable, seeing as Amélie had been basically eyeing her up like she was a prime cut of meat back there, and Angela had always reacted poorly to any interest of that nature.

Really, Amélie should have admonished herself, because she knew exactly what she was doing, but she honestly couldn't help herself anymore.

Bottling up her feelings for the doctor and restraining herself was becoming a real hassle. Amélie found her resolve weakening each day; she just had to  _do_  something. She had to  _have_  something. Amélie planned on securing that something this afternoon, whether it crushed her heart or not.

She had to _know_ , first of all, and she couldn't start that conversation until they reached the doctor's office. The doctor's hopefully empty,  _lock-able_  office.

At last, the blonde woman stopped at a door, a door that despite being so familiar with the room beyond it, Amélie could not recognize. She had no idea where she was, actually. Overwatch's headquarters was like a damn labyrinth, but it didn't matter. This was the only place she was interested in being.

Angela grasped the keycard that was hanging from a lanyard around her neck and stuck one of its ends into the card reader by the door. A light above it flashed green, and the automatic door hissed open.

The doctor spared her a look from the corner of her eye, as if she thought that she had lost Amélie along the way, and when the French woman met her gaze dauntlessly, her eyebrows rose to her hairline and she quickly looked away.

Amélie suppressed a chuckle that would have no doubt sounded sinister to the poor doctor.

She really was bursting with nerves, Amélie could see it with the stiffness of her movements and the quiet, deep breaths that she kept drawing in. Who knew she had such an effect on the doctor?

Amélie was filled with a cruel satisfaction at thought of the sway she seemed to have over the blonde woman, but another part of her was consumed with guilt and worry.

Did she genuinely scare the doctor? Or was Angela anxious for.. a different.. reason?

"Please... come in," Angela's sweet voice jarred Amélie from her head, and the French woman jerked slightly. She had been standing in the doorway of the doctor's office like a buffoon for a solid thirty seconds now, she figured.

"Oh!" Amélie feigned breathlessness with her soft exclamation, and glided smoothly inside. "My apologies, doctor. I spaced out for a moment there." That was atleast some truth, but the doctor didn't have to know the  _full_  truth just yet.

Angela gave her one of her characteristically gentle and understanding smiles as she approached what looked like a closet built into one of the walls.

"No worries." The doctor assured her in a nearly soothing manner, using her thumb to flip a switch on the wall. The shadowed space she stood before instantly brightened with soft yellow light. It looked like a display case, for her Valkyrie suit, no doubt.

Amélie leaned into the nearest wall, crossed her arms, and observed as Angela began the tedious process of disassembling the suit.

First, the gloves came off. Angela slid them from her hands with ease, and then moved her fingers to her lower back. She did something out of Amélie's sight, and the protective armor-like case that the Valkyrie formed around Angela's upper body was shucked off in one piece, which the doctor propped up on the supports of the display case. Then, the halo was removed from her head, and she placed it on its own holder.

She stood in nothing but a grey tank top and black leggings now. The wings also remained, and to Amélie's surprise, Angela turned her back to her a requested some assistance.

"Amélie, if you would?"

Amélie wasn't stunned by the inquiry, no, she was stunned by what she was seeing.

The wings of the Valkyrie seemed to be  _grafted_  onto Angela's skin. What the hell had the doctor done to herself for the sake of her creation?

"Angela?" The French woman questioned in concern, hastily approaching the doctor to place one of her hands on the blonde's shoulder, and the other hovering just over one of the bases of the wings. Machine and porcelain skin clashed with each other before her eyes, and Amélie felt a spike of dread in her gut.

"Angela.. is this..  _attached_  to you?" She asked in slight horror, using the pads of her fingers to brush the space where the doctor's back and the metal met.

She felt the doctor shudder beneath her touch, but Amélie couldn't appreciate the reaction. She was.. scared on Angela's behalf. Just what was she willing to do to further her research?

"Of course," The doctor replied casually, and her flippant disregard for her own body angered Amélie. "It's connected to my nervous system so that I may move the wings at will; they are basically extra limbs for me while I'm wearing this suit." Angela explained to her, her lithe shoulders bouncing in a shrug.

The wings shifted because of her movement, and Amélie winced, again, on the doctor's behalf.

She may not have been a science wiz, but that did not sound good to Amélie. If they removed the wings the wrong way, couldn't that damage Angela's nerves somehow?

"O-okay.. so.. how do I do this without hurting you?" Amélie asked nervously, lowering her other hand from Angela's shoulder to hover over her right wing.

Angela spoke without even giving her glance, her posture rigid. "There are releases at each of the wing's bases. Just apply pressure there and they should come off."

Amélie felt for the supposed releases, and when she believed that she had found them, she squeezed. There was a hiss of air from the machines, along with Angela's short gasp of pain, and the Valkyrie's wings dislocated from the doctor's back.

The French woman held the devices in each of her hands, squinting at the angry red marks that they had left on the milky skin of Angela's back.

_Doctor.. what in the world are you doing to yourself?_

Angela turned around, refusing to meet Amélie's eyes, and she took the pair of wings from her and approached the display case again. She moved gingerly, as if in pain, as she raised the wings to their own supports and secured them there.

Amélie tracked the doctor's movement like a hawk when she left the illuminated case, concern bursting in her chest at the way the blonde moved so shakily.

When Angela finally reached her desk, her arms and fingers trembling like leaves, she went to lean her weight into it, but her hands bumped into a precariously stacked bundle of papers which scattered all over the floor.

" _Scheisse!"_ The doctor hissed faintly, placing one her palms on the now bare space on her desk and glaring down at the unruly papers.

It was the final straw for Amélie, who hastily moved forward to trap the doctor's free hand in between her own.

Flustered by the sudden closeness, the frown on the blonde's face morphed into open-mouthed shock, but before she could speak, Amélie beat her to it.

"Angela, is something wrong?" The French woman demanded gently of the doctor, real worry bleeding from her voice.

Having overcome her discomfort at how near they were to each other, Angela blinked dully up at her.

"Hmm?" The doctor hummed languidly back at Amélie, her brows furrowing and an annoyed expression now on her face. "Yes, actually. I am hopelessly infatuated with you and it is quite conflicting."

_... What...? Infatuation..?_

Was that.. was that Angela's wordy way of confessing that she had a crush on Amélie?

"What is.." Angela began, her blue eyes narrowing.

Amélie was, for once, completely floored. Her silver tongue was frozen in place, and even her healthy ego had nothing to gloat about at the moment.

Realization could slowly be seen dawning on the doctor's face, and her complexion paled rapidly. "Ah.. that was aloud.. wasn't it?" Angela asked weakly, shrinking away.

Amélie pulled her back, having regained her senses and collected her thoughts. With the couple of inches she had over the doctor, she loomed over the blonde woman, who looked like she was ready to melt into the floor.

"I knew it," Amélie declared smugly, a smirk curling her lips and her eyes hooded as she brought her face even closer to Angela's. "You want me." She purred right by the blonde's ear, earning herself another shudder from the doctor.

Angela let out a soft keening noise, her eyes squeezing shut.

"I-I do." She conceded breathlessly, shifting closer so she could bury her face into the crook of Amélie's neck, as if she were trying to hide.

Amélie chuckled lowly, releasing the doctor's hands to cup the blonde's cheeks with her own.

"You can't hide from me, doctor." Amélie drawled while pushing Angela's head back, so that they were face to face once again.

Angela's lovely blue eyes were watery, tears threatening to spill over her lashes and stream down her cheeks.

"A-Amélie.. I-I..." She tried to speak, but her words ended in a muffled noise of protest when Amélie impatiently brought their lips together.

Vindication. Vindication is the word Amélie would use to describe this kiss, though several other adjectives were definitely appropriate: hungry, searing, and sloppy.

The doctor returned it at full force, her hands grasping at Amélie until they finally found their resting places on her shoulders, where the blonde's elegant fingernails dug into her skin.

Along the way, Angela's legs stopped supporting her, and she slumped back into the edge of her desk. Amélie slid her hands down from the doctor's face, over her sides and curves, and at last to her waist, where she urged the blonde fully onto the desktop.

Angela allowed herself to be moved, neither of them troubled by the occasional folder, document or writing utensil that was pushed carelessly to the tile.

When they at last broke apart, Amélie immediately moved to place her lips onto the side of the doctor's neck, her teeth grazing Angela's skin and provoking another needy, soft noise from the back of the blonde's throat.

Before she could go any further, however, Angela's fingers closed with a surprising roughness around her left hand, and she forced it upward to hold it between them.

Though irritated by her reluctance despite the desire Amélie could see burning within her, the French woman focused on the part of her body that Angela was obviously trying to draw attention to.

Her wedding band gleamed back at her mockingly, catching the dull glow of the lit display case behind her.

Scowling, Amélie shifted her eyes from the ring to meet Angela's gaze. The doctor's blue eyes were sad and pleading, begging Amélie to reconsider.

 _Gérard.. Gérard..._  The French woman scoffed openly, taking her right hand off the doctor's waist to wrench the ring from her finger.  _Forget Gérard._  She tossed it aside heedlessly, only the delicate clinking of it hitting the hard floor and she and Angela's pounding heartbeats roaring in her ears.

She intended on making this angel sing for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dude. Poor Gérard. I feel bad for him, man**


	7. Regret

Angela was trying not to cry, and failing miserably.

Oily tears spilled over her cheeks, catching in her lashes and making her vision blurry with regret. They splashed onto her leggings, where she had her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs.

The doctor cried quietly, because this type of conflict felt.. soft. It felt muted. _She_  felt hollow, as if her being was draining from her in each tear that slipped down her face.

She'd.. she'd slept with Amélie, and no matter how satisfied her body was, Angela's mind was anything but.

She was having an affair with her friend's wife. She was betraying Gérard's trust and friendship for her own selfish carnal desires.

Releasing the vice hold her fingers had around her knees, Angela lifted her hands to her face to wipe at her eyes with the heels of her palms. She sniffled miserably, then wiped any trace of remorse from her expression.

She was such a horrible person.

How could she face Gérard now? Sure, he had no idea what was going on, but that was what made it sting so badly. How could Angela greet her friend again and act as if nothing was wrong, how could she not feel like she was plunging a knife into his back and twisting it?

She was a truly dreadful liar, and her conscious was bound to get the better of her sooner or later. She had to do..  _something_.

Yes, she wanted Amélie, and she had been weak, but this..  _this_  could not happen again. It couldn't. This was a fluke. A penchant in her resolve. Angela would not give into her greed again.

* * *

Of course.. such aspirations were easier said than done.

She made the mistake of allowing she and Amélie to be alone together again, and now, she was straddling and locking lips with the other woman on the soft comfort of the large couch she had in her office.

It wasn't her fault that Amélie was so persuasive, so suave, so  _beautiful_. Her tongue worked wonders with words, and it was just as marvelous at other.. activities.

Angela  _was_  a little disappointed with herself. She had melted as easily as butter in Amélie's hands, but she hardly had the time for self-loathing when she was drowning blissfully in the taste of Amélie's mouth.

Though, she was aware of her surroundings enough to pick up the gentle, and very peculiar, clink of spurs echoing down the hallway outside her door.

 _Jesse._  The doctor's mind immediately supplied for her; only one person in Headquarters wore such ridiculous foot wear.

Her heart then skipped a beat when she realized that the heavy footsteps were coming toward her office.

She hadn't locked the door. She hadn't expected to be in such a.. compromising position with Amélie, so she saw no need.

Angela broke their kiss, breathing out sharply in alarm, and balanced herself upright. Amélie, her brows now raised, didn't get the chance to question her behavior, because the doctor clamped her palm over the French woman's mouth to muffled her words.

Amélie let out a confused noise when the doctor leaned down to press their bodies together, so that she was completely hidden over the backboard of the couch. Thankfully, it faced away from the door, so when she heard the hiss of it opening and Jesse's clattering footsteps, he did not see them.

"Angela?" Jesse called into the dimly lit, quiet office, sounding rather sheepish.

Instantly, the doctor's mindset changed from homewrecker to concerned friend. Had he hurt himself? He better not have been playing around in the Training Room with his Peacekeeper and shot himself,  _again_.

Though shaking with nerves, Angela slowly pulled herself upright from her hiding place, and Jesse instantly turned his head to face her.

"Oh, were you napping?" He asked, his tone now apologetic.

The doctor blinked owlishly at him, then nodded her head.  _Sure, let's go with that._

"Uhh.. sorry to bother you then, doc, I could come back later..." Jesse quickly offered, trying to turn around and head for the door, but Angela had already seen the smear of red on his bare left forearm.

" _Jesse McCree_." She said sternly, her eyes narrowed at the wound. From this distance she could tell how it was only a shallow cut, but she was more irritated by the  _how_  it got there rather than what it was.

The self-proclaimed cowboy visibly flinched, his shoulders drawn up and an expression similar to that of a scolded puppy on his face when he pivoted back around to meet her eyes.

"Don't tell me you were shooting bullets at Genji again to see if he could reflect them," Angela demanded sharply while carefully untangling herself from Amélie out of Jesse's sight. She didn't dare glance down at the French woman for fear of giving her away, so once her feet had touched the floor she moved around to the other side of the couch.

Jesse grinned nervously, using one of his gloved hands to mess with the rim of his silly cowboy hat. "Okay.. I won't tell ya then."

The doctor huffed in exasperation back at him, approaching briskly and grabbing the wounded arm to get a closer look at his injury.

Just as she had predicted, it was simply a graze. It leaked blood sluggishly, creating a small trail down Jesse's tanned arm. It was nothing a little antiseptic and bandage wouldn't fix.

Still clasping his arm in both her palms, Angela peered up at Jesse with a brow raised. "So he  _is_  faster than a bullet, I take it?"

Her friend laughed lowly in response, and the doctor was hit with the overwhelming stench of those disgusting cigars that he was so fond of. Wrinkling her nose, Angela released him and went toward her cabinet, using one of her hands to wave toward the row of cots against the left wall.

"Go sit down," She ordered while pulling open a drawer and collecting a roll of gauze. "I'll be with you shortly."

The clinking of Jesse's spurs signaled that he was doing as he was told while Angela reached for one of the cabinets to secure the antiseptic. She was just about to turn back toward him when he spoke from where he sat on one of the cots.

"Hey Angie.. is this a wedding ring?"

Quickly, the doctor spun around, an inexplicable feeling of dread gathering in her gut. That had to be Amélie's ring. Had he already figured them out? No, no, he couldn't have. Jesse didn't know. No one did. Yet.

Sure enough, when she focused her sight on the little piece of jewelry Jesse was holding with his thumb and index finger, it appeared to be a wedding band. There was an impressive diamond balanced on the golden band.

"Oh dear," She uttered in mock surprise as she crossed the medbay to stand before him. "Someone must have lost that on their last visit."

Jesse flashed his teeth in a brief grin, then whistled lowly while raising the ring higher in the air. "What a beauty. Whoever lost this must be missin' it a whole lot."

 _I highly doubt that._  Angela thought to herself bitterly, laying the roll of bandages and antiseptic onto the cot beside the gunslinger. She reached up and captured his wrist with her hand to pull it back to eye level.

"Surely," She retorted, gesturing with her free hand for Jesse to hand the ring over. He did, placing it into her open palm with a cheeky smile on his face.

"Now I'm going to have to call every single patient that's seen me in the last 48 hours." She muttered, slipping the wedding band into one of her lab coat's pockets.

She felt bad about the little lie; she knew exactly who this ring belonged to, but Jesse couldn't know that. 

"If you don't find them.." Jesse began as she left him to approach the sink to get a cleansing wipe. "..ya think I could have it? Finders keepers, ya know." He suggested, and it actually wrestled a soft chuckle from the deeply conflicted doctor.

Yanking a fresh wipe from its container, Angela looked at him over her shoulder with a quirked brow. "Jesse, what on earth would you need a wedding ring for?"

Jesse gave her another grin, and the way he wiggled his eyebrows at her squeezed another genuine laugh from her. "Who knows, doc? Maybe I'm plannin' to propose to that special someone... This would certainly be cheaper than buyin' one myself."

Angela exhaled heavily through her nose as she returned to him, bringing the wipe to his arm to swab at his wound.

"And what happens when its rightful owner catches you offering their ring around?" She asked him while dragging the cloth over his skin, washing away the blood around the cut and on his arm.

When she pulled away, it was stained with red, and the graze in his skin was clean. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be bleeding so vigorously anymore.

"They'll hafta fight me for it." Jesse declared confidently, flexing his now bloodless, well-muscled arm in Angela's grip.

A smile curling the edges of her mouth, Angela playfully thumped his shoulder with the back of her hand, then reached for the bandages and antiseptic by his leg.

She bandaged his cut in silence, a companionable silence, and when she was finished, Jesse hopped off the cot and stretched dramatically.

"Do I get a lollipop for behaving so good?" He asked jokingly. He always asked that every single time Angela saw him. Now, she was prepared.

Rolling her eyes, Angela wiped her dirtied hands with an antibacterial wipe, and went toward her desk. Opening one of her drawers, she picked up a cherry lollipop by its stick, and presented it proudly to the gunslinger.

Jesse's jaw actually dropped, honest surprise on his face. It quickly morphed into childlike happiness when he accepted the candy from her.

"You actually have these?" He asked breathlessly, bringing it toward his nose and sniffing it, as if to confirm that it was indeed real.

Angela gave him a gentle smile. "If you'll chew on this instead of those cigars, always." She promised.

Jesse ripped the clear wrapper from it, and popped the candy into his mouth. Smiling around it, he lifted his hand in a short wave back at her.

"That's a mighty fine offer. Thanks, Angie." He then turned to the door, and left, the jingling of his spurs fading until she could no longer hear them.

Once he was completely gone, it felt like a dark cloud had settled over the doctor. Jesse's delightful presence and his jokes had been a welcome distraction from her current.. situation.

Frowning, Angela's hand slipped into her pocket, and she messed with the ring using the tips of her fingers. She heard rustling from the direction the couch was, and turned toward it.

Amélie had drug herself up into a sitting position, her usual smirk upon her lips. "What a charming man, that McCree. American, isn't he?"

Angela's frown deepened, and her hand clenched to form a fist around the ring.

How could Amélie quip about this? They had nearly been caught, which was sure to be doom on both of their social lives, not to mention her colleagues' reactions...

 _Urgh. No, I can't.. I can't do this anymore._  No matter how amazing the sex was, no matter how pleasant Amélie's company was... she couldn't go on pretending like nothing was wrong.

The doctor sighed, using her empty hand to squeeze the pressure points in the bridge of her nose. She slid her eyes shut, the last image she received of Amélie showing the fading amusement on the French woman's face.

Angela swallowed thickly, her following words as difficult to get out as they had been to conjure up. "Amélie... we should.. we should stop this."

Heels clacked onto the floor, then advanced toward her, harsh and piercing into Angela's skull. Anxiety began worming its way up her throat, making it dry.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes when she sensed Amélie stop in front of her, and looked up to meet the other woman's amber eyes.

"What are you saying, doctor?" Amélie asked quietly, her brows drawn together in both confusion and concern.

 _Are you really going to make me say it?_  Angela pressed her lips together, wetness beginning to gather in the corners of her vision.

"I-I can't.. keep lying to everyone, Amélie," The other woman tilted her head in question, but Angela stuttered on before she could get a word out. "You're an amazing woman, I enjoy spending time with you..." The doctor closed her hand around the ring in her pocket, and raised it to unfurl her fingers. The wedding ring rested right in the center of her palm. "..but you're married. This isn't right."

Almost every part of her was shaking, even her voice had been, as Angela awaited Amélie's response.

The other woman peered down emptily at the wedding band for several agonizing seconds, then blinked rapidly. She reached out to gather the ring, and held it up between them with her fingers.

Angela lowered her own hand, watching as Amélie's stunning amber eyes unfocused from the piece of jewelry, and locked onto the doctor's face.

"I understand,  _mon ange._ " She said simply, and before Angela knew it, Amélie's lips were upon her cheek, the French woman had turned her back, and she was out the door.

Angela was alone.

This was good. She had ended a badly.. circumstanced... relationship. This was the morally correct thing to do.

But why did she feel so.. desolate?

The good doctor went to her desk chair and sunk into its cushions, resting her now aching head onto its backboard. It didn't take long for her remorse to surface, spurring tears that flowed down her cheeks and most likely ruined what little makeup she had decided to put on for today.

She had done the right thing, but why did it feel so incredibly wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Man I love writing McCree, he's my second favorite male character behind Genji. Can you take a guess at who my fav female heroes are?**


	8. Ça pique, n'est-ce pas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for the delay, and the shortness of this. I had a big project due last weekend and barely got half of this chapter done, so I did the other half today soo..**
> 
> **Anyway, I'll be switching over to Widow/Mercy POV in upcoming chapters and I'm going to try to follow Overwatch's very confusing timeline.**
> 
> **Also there is some dubious consent ahead? I guess at the end it is sorta borderline sexual assault but hey???**

Angela never saw the real Amélie Lacroix again.

That evening, as the doctor drowned her feelings of emptiness and dissatisfaction in alcohol, Amélie was kidnapped off the streets of Zürich on her walk home.

What followed was a week of what could have been described as hell on earth, Angela, forever mulling over the what ifs creating a maelstrom within her mind, and Overwatch tearing the globe apart in search of the missing Lacroix.

Talon was the obvious suspect, seeing as Gérard was the man spearheading Overwatch's assault on the terrorist organization. So, obviously, he was at the head of this search, but not even his desperation to recover his wife was enough.

Amélie returned on her own, or, more precisely, she reappeared on her own. She resurfaced in the exact same place that she had been abducted, dazed, but not a single scratch on her.

Angela immediately took it upon herself to look over the woman, despite the awkward terms that they had left each other on. She was just relieved to have Amélie back, their delicate history aside.

So this is how Amélie Lacroix came to be in her medbay once again, clad in the exact same jeans and rose-colored blouse that Angela had last seen her in.

Her vitals were stable, her body appeared unharmed, and she didn't seem to be experiencing any kind of head injury, though the other woman had confessed a gap in her memory.

She didn't remember who took her. She didn't remember why they took her, or what they did to her. It was very perplexing, but Angela, frustrated to all hell, could not find a single physical thing wrong with Amélie.

The doctor voiced her displeasure with a loud sigh, setting her stethoscope back onto the surface of a nearby table and pressing her palms into its cool metal.

"What troubles you, doctor?" Amélie suddenly spoke behind her, her tone clipped, but retaining that characteristic coyness in its inflection.

Angela jerked slightly, whirling around on her feet to face the other woman.

Amélie continued to look out the window to the snow-capped expanse of mountains that it provided a view of.

The doctor exhaled through her nose, her eyebrows drawing together.

"You, Amélie," She replied softly, the clicking of her heels following her as she neared the cot that the French woman sat upon. Amélie did not react to her approach.

"I can't find anything wrong with you. No substances are in your bloodstream, no damage has been done to your body nor brain...and," Angela purged her irritations to the other woman, and breathless, she paused to throw her hands forward.

"I simply do not understand, why did they take you if they didn't do or want anything?" She finished with clenched fists, eyes glued to the side of Amélie's face.

 _Why won't she just lo-_  Angela's inner complaint was interrupted when the other woman did just that, she tilted her head pointedly. Her movements were too slow, almost frighteningly calculating, and it was all Angela could do not to flinch when those once warm amber eyes pierced into her, glassy and cold.

"I do not know, Angela." Amélie told her monotonously, blinking at the doctor in a languid manner.

Angela was struck with the sudden realization that something.. something was _off_ , but she could not quite place her finger on it.

She decided that in that moment, it would be better to brush off than to pursue.

Flexing her fingers at her sides, the blonde puffed again in thinly veiled ire. Amélie broke their gaze to go back to looking out through the glass.

"I just wish that there was something I could do, something I could have done..." Angela confessed to the unresponsive French woman, bringing her palms together to work out the kinks in her joints.

Could she have even saved Amélie from.. whatever had happened to her? If she had just not broken their relationship off that day, would Amélie have been with  _her_  that evening, safe from harm? Though, what harm had been done, Angela could not say, and it was driving her up the damn wall.

The soft, droning chuckle that answered her made the doctor's entire body go stiff, and with goosebumps prickling across her skin, Angela turned to the source of it.

Amélie, the profile of her humorless grin a striking image, was shaking with weak, chilling laughter.

"Oh,  _chérie_ ," She managed through her chuckling, and to Angela, the pet name had never sounded so sinister. "Not even  _you_  could have stopped this."

* * *

The next time Angela saw Amélie was in her own apartment.

A rare occurrence on its own, Amélie's surprise appearance was unexpected to say the least.

Angela almost never spent her nights in her own home, and she did not recall ever giving Amélie her address, so when she heard her bathroom door creaking open as she stood under the torrent of water that her shower blasted out, Angela was immediately struck with panic.

Her first and most dire thought was that a robber had broken into her home, and like the fool she was, she probably had forgotten to lock her front door and made it all too easy for them.

The doctor went ramrod straight, her empty hands automatically reaching for the closest thing that she could use as a weapon, which happened to be a bottle of shampoo.

 _Yes, Angela, you're going to fend off this intruder in your birthday suit with nothing but a plastic bottle.._  She scoffed internally, straining her ears to track the approaching steps of her attacker. Their footfalls were far too light to be a man's, so it had to be a woman.

Her shower curtain was a pastel blue, and see through enough that she could make out the silhouette of the stranger, who was indeed, a rather tall woman.

Angela had never felt so relieved, or confused, when a familiar voice came from the figure and eased her fear.

"It's me, Angela, no need to get violent." Amélie called out to her in blasé, and in her surprise the water-slicked bottle Angela was gripping in her palms slipped loose.

Swearing loudly when it thudded right onto her toes, Angela scrambled to regain her footing, all while slapping her bare hand onto the shower handle to cut the water off.

She inhaled unsteadily and stood upright afterwards, her every limb shaking as the doctor grasped one end of the curtain and yanked it aside.

Angela choked back a reflexive shriek at the sight that greeted her: Amélie, in a black lace nightgown, covered from her chest to her chin in blood. Splatters of red were also along her arms, her fingers, and wedged beneath her elegant fingernails.

She looked as if she had walked straight out of one of Angela's nightmares, the eerily blank expression on the other woman's face doing nothing to convince her otherwise.

"A-Amélie?!" Angela gasped in a trembling voice, warring with her caretaker's impulse to find the source of the blood, and her own basic flight or fight instincts that were screaming at her to flee.

It wasn't as if she had anywhere to run, anyway, and that fact was firmly established when the French woman began to saunter forward and Angela soon found herself trapped between Amélie and the tile wall of her bathroom.

The doctor shrunk back at the other woman's proximity, hyper aware of her own state of undress and the malevolent presence that Amélie was practically radiating.

Her hands were curled into wavering fists at her sides as Angela shivered with nerves in Amélie's shadow, who looked down at the doctor with hooded eyes.

Why,  _why_  was she feeling the urge to lash out at Amélie?  _Why_  did she feel like she was in inexplicable danger right now?

"Amélie?" Angela tried again in a much more stable tone, struggling to maintain eye contact.

Her attention was drawn to the flicker of movement that one corner of Amélie's mouth made, pulling her blood-speckled lips into a half-smirk.

"Gérard is dead." The French woman declared dispassionately, punctuating her words by leaning even closer, so close that their noses were inches apart.

Dread stabbed into Angela's stomach once she had processed what had been said, and the tears of terror that had already been threatening to spill from her eyes began to stream down her cheeks.

_So, all that blood covering her.. is.. Gérard's? S-she killed Gérard?_

"W-what?" Angela stuttered through her desperate intake of air.

Amélie's smirk sharpened.

"This was what you wanted, was is not,  _mon ange_? Now we can be together, no?" The French woman purred from the back of her throat, hovering nearer.

_What I wanted? No, no!_

Their mouths were nearly touching, but Angela did not lean into the kiss as she once would have. She tried to back away, at both Amélie's suffocating closeness and the stinging words that she delivered, but her naked back met with the hard wall behind her, effectively trapping her against the other woman, who instantly took up the space the action had made between them.

The doctor squeaked when a slender hand closed around her neck, pressing her completely into the tile. Her knuckles were no doubt white with how tightly she clenched her fists, still hanging by her sides.

"What's the matter, doctor?" Amélie uttered coldly right at her ear, the index finger of her free hand trailing down over Angela's ribcage to rest at her hip. It induced a shiver from her, of pleasure or fear, the blonde could not tell anymore.

Thankfully, Amélie's touch did not venture any lower, but she did squeeze Angela's neck threateningly in her other hand.

"I killed a man for you, and it's still not enough?" The French woman asked in an airy, scandalized manner.

Oily tears blurring her vision and staining her cheeks, Angela inhaled weakly, her throat scorching with grief. "H-how c-could you-"

Her quavering words were ended in a yelp when Amélie drove her knee upward directly between the doctor's legs, desire suddenly surging through her and making her knees weak.

Her fists uncurled, fingers reaching out for the other woman and digging into the smooth fabric of the nightdress around her waist.

Her eyes squeezed shut, Angela heard Amélie make a sort of contemplative  _hmming_  noise before her lips were captured in a dominating kiss. It barely lasted a full 10 seconds, but it was rough and bruising, only dazing Angela further when the other woman pulled back and released her.

" _Adieu, chérie._ " Amélie offered lazily along with a glib wave of her hand, and she left Angela there, with Gérard Lacroix's blood smeared on her lips and finger-shaped bruises forming around her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The title of this chapter is one of Widowmaker's in-game voice lines. She says it sometimes when her venom mine gets triggered. I'm pretty sure it translates to: _Stings, doesn't it?_ Something like that.**


	9. The Widowmaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **haven't proof read this at ALL so sorry for any spelling or punctuation mistakes. I'll get around to that. maybe.**

Genji comes to her first, with news of the Widowmaker.

That's what they had taken to calling her, this ruthless  _assassin_  who bore Amélie Lacroix's face.

It wasn't Amélie.. it couldn't be.. and yet... Angela had experienced this woman's cruelty firsthand. She still had the bruises to prove it.

And so, she wore her favorite turtleneck to work the day after the Widowmaker had appeared in her apartment to cover the purplish-blue marks tainting her skin.

She rested in one of the lounge's armchairs with a mug of hot chocolate cupped in her palms, absentmindedly watching the television mounted on the wall, but not really absorbing any of the images.

Her mind might as well had been light years away when Genji entered.

Without a sound the cyborg approached her, and only when he nudged her shoulder and called her name quietly did the doctor take notice of him.

Angela was dragged back to reality, torn from her inner turmoil by his touch, and she turned to him with an almost guilty speed. Her hold tightened around her cup, the simmering warmth of her drink beginning to sting.

She blinked up at him for a few moments, and he waited patiently for her to discover her voice again.

"Oh, Genji," She tried to plaster on a smile, but she had a feeling that the man could see straight through it. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Doctor Ziegler," Genji returned with a curt bow of his head, then he presented to her a manilla folder. "Captain Amari asked me to bring this to you."

Brows narrowed, Angela gave the folder a cursory glance, before extending one of her hands to accept it. Balancing it in her lap, the doctor smiled up him.

"Thank you, Genji. It's good to see you."

Yes.. it was nice to have herself distracted, even if was for this one brief exchange. She just wanted to get her damn mind off Amélie…

Genji's bright red eyes squinted, he was smiling back at her, she could tell, and that little gesture eased a bit of the tightness in the doctor's chest.

Though it was gone as soon as it came; Genji's powerful stance shrunk. His shoulders slumped forward a little, a melancholy feeling now radiating from him.

Angela couldn't help but notice the uncharacteristic change in demeanor, and she was in the process of opening her mouth to address it when Genji spoke.

"Angela."

The doctor froze, her lips closing.

He  _never_  used her first name unless in a moment of raw emotion.

The cyborg now refused to make eye contact, his right wrist flicking and bringing forth three shurikens. He fiddled with them between his metal fingers before raising his voice again.

"I have decided to leave." He declared, a metallic  _shnk!_  sounding as he put his stars away.

_Leave.. leave? He is leaving..?_

Why did Angela feel like she already knew this had been coming?

It was just.. Overwatch had not felt like it used to, not since Amélie…

Jack and Gabriel had always had this friendly sort of rivalry going, but lately it felt more like a war. Both men were animalistic in their behavior towards each other nowadays, and every agent was feeling it. People were quiet, afraid to speak out, or just plain fed up with their bickering.

Angela was leaning toward the last one, but she loved her colleagues too much to risk worsening that rift growing between them. This was something that Jack and Gabriel had to work out themselves.

So.. no matter how much it hurt, she could understand this.

"I-I see." Was her shaky reply, and the doctor began to curse her sentimental heart when she felt the fire burning in the corners of her eyes.

No, no, she couldn't cry, she couldn't do that to Genji. Her tears would no doubt make him promise to stay for her sake, and she wasn't going to hold him back any longer.

He owed her nothing, he owed Overwatch nothing, it was a good decision for him to finally leave this place.

Genji had noticed the wetness gathering on her lashes, and detected the wobbling of her voice, however. He moved closer, his metal hand resting on her upper arm reassuringly.

"Doctor Ziegler.. I.."

Quickly, the doctor deposited her half-drunken mug onto the small table next to her chair, and draped her hand over the cyborg's bionic one. She met his eyes, tears continuing to blur her vision, but she refused to let them fall.

"No, it's alright, Genji. I understand.. I am just sad to see you go, is all."

The man nodded once, his eyes half-lidded, and he slipped his hand from the doctor's.

Angela hastily rose from her seat when he took a small step backward, and without hesitation she threw her arms around him and pulled Genji in for an embrace. The folder that had been in her lap fluttered to the floor.

He seemed surprised at the sudden contact at first, but eventually he returned her hug by wrapping his arms around her as well.

It lasted for only a few short seconds, and they stepped apart.

Genji left with a silent farewell, one more nod to the doctor, and he disappeared out the lounge door.

Alone, Angela's eyes fell to her feet, where the manilla folder he had given her lay. She read the bold red script inked on its surface:  _The Widowmaker_

* * *

Jesse comes to her next, uninjured, for once.

Angela is in her office, staring blankly at the holopad in her hands, her thoughts once again miles into the stars.

She had found it to be rather difficult to focus on anything lately, and Genji's recent departure still stung.

Data flickered by on the screen before her eyes, but she looked straight past it, the sudden woosh of her office door sliding open jarring her from her daze.

She looked up to see Jesse approaching her desk, a bouquet of assorted flowers clutched in his newly-acquired metal hand. It's bright red color still clashed with the rest of him in the doctor's eyes, that combination of the human body and machine still rubbing her the wrong way.

Her mood was too somber for Angela to attempt light-hearted banter with him, and not even the characteristic goofy smile on the gunslinger's face changed that.

"Jesse?" She questioned as he stomped up to her desk in those ridiculous cowboy boots. "What are those for?" She lowered the holopad to her desk, and gestured to the flowers.

Jesse used his empty hand to rub at the back of his neck, his forthcoming expression morphing into guilt.

_Guilt? Why guilt?_

"They're.. uh, for you." He said, offering them to her.

Puzzled, but not wanting to be rude, the doctor accepted the bouquet from him, but she had not even opened her mouth before he spoke again.

"Angie.. I'm… I'm leaving Overwatch."

Oh. Yes.. this was expected too, unfortunately. That's why he brought her flowers, as an apology. It was sweet, but wholly unnecessary. As if she would be angry with him…

_Oh, Jesse.._

Smiling sadly, the doctor observed the collection of flowers she held, studying each pastel-colored petal and breathing in the sweet scent that wafted from them.

"I understand, Jesse." She retorted softly, pinching one of the fragile petals between her index finger and thumb.

Jesse made some sort of sputtering sound, his spurs jingling obnoxiously when he took a step closer, so that he was at the edge of her desk.

"Y-you do?" The doctor raised her head to meet his gaze, amused by how flustered he had become.

The bubbling pleasant feeling faded, however.

"Things are.. different," Terrible. Things were terrible. Jack and Gabriel were constantly at each other's throats and the vitriolic mood between them was palpable. No one, not even Angela, who did her best to act as a peacemaker for her two old friends, could bear being in the same room as them anymore.

"Overwatch is not the same as it once was. I do not blame you for backing out." She finished while distractedly stroking at the petals of the flowers.

Overwatch used to feel like a family. Now it felt like a prison.

"Things are only going to get worse," Jesse told her gravely, tucking his hands into his pant's front pockets. "You should leave, too, Angie, you don't want to get caught up in it."

The doctor chuckled weakly back at him, her own fingers curling into a fist.

"No, I cannot leave them behind. They need me now more than ever."

Jesse looked at the floor, his thick brows drawn together and scrunching up his face. His mouth was nearly in a pout, and he obviously trying to fight it.

Sighing, the doctor placed the flowers onto the surface of her desk, and rose from her chair. The clicking of her heels followed her as she moved around it to stand before the gunslinger.

"Goodbye, Jesse." Willing a smile from herself, Angela used her fingers to nudge the underside of Jesse's hat, pushing it upward and revealing his face.

He finally met her eyes at the action, and spread his arms in invitation.

Angela accepted, and they embraced.

"See ya around, doc." Jesse murmured at her shoulder, then untangled himself. With a final finger-gun and half-hearted wink thrown her way, he disappeared through her office door.

* * *

The Widowmaker comes to her last.

Tired of her stuffy office, tired of how suffocating Headquarters had become, Angela fled to her apartment for the second time that month.

She climbed the narrow staircase to her floor, her purse hanging from her arm and her keys gripped loosely in her hand.

She was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and could not think of much more than collapsing into her barely-used queen-sized bed.

Barely aware of herself, a white film of stress and grief over her mind, she traveled down the hallway and stopped at her door. She jammed the key into the keyhole and unlocked it, then stepped into the pitch black threshold of her home.

Immediately after entering, she knew she was not alone.

Another body was suddenly against her, wrenching her wrist behind her back in a disarming angle, causing her bag and keys to clatter to the floor.

Angela was barely able to let a startled gasp before her assailant's hand clamped over her mouth, their palm strangely frigid.

Her apartment's door squeaked on its hinges as her attacker carefully pushed it closed, the click of its lock falling into place the only sound besides the doctor's own panicked breathing and heartbeat.

She was too tired to even attempt fighting back, and simply stood stiff in the stranger's firm hold. They were almost completely draped over her, their body lithe and their chest obviously that of a woman's.

_Could it be..?_

"Hello,  _mon ange_." A familiar voice then sounded behind her, and the doctor flushed with an odd sense of relief.

_It is._

Her cold breath puffing against the doctor's neck, Widowmaker leaned forward, her lips brushing the shell of Angela's ear. The blonde tried not to shudder at the feathery touch.

"Promise me you'll be a good girl and I'll let you go,"

The doctor nodded weakly in agreement, and Widowmaker's slender fingers fell from her mouth, the tips of her fingers sweeping across Angela's lips.

"It'd be a shame to have to bruise that pretty pale skin of yours again." Those fingers lowered to the doctor's neck, pressing into one of the places where she left a mark during their last meeting.

Angela jerked slightly in response the stab of pain it caused, and Widowmaker chuckled at her squirming.

"Are you here to kill me?" Angela asked faintly once the discomfort had passed.

She found herself apathetic toward this possibility. How could she even fight the Widowmaker off by herself anyway? There was no use in prolonging her own suffering.

Abruptly, the hold the assassin had on her wrist released, but that same forceful hand clamped around her shoulder and the doctor found herself being spun around.

She was turned so that her back met the wall when Widowmaker shoved her into it, momentarily knocking the breath from her.

Gulping for air, the space around her only grew more suffocating when Widowmaker positioned herself over the doctor.

Her eyes had adjusted to the low, moonlit light of the apartment well enough that when Angela blinked the wetness out of the corners of her eyes, she could see the face of the woman she had once known.

The Widowmaker wore that familiar feline-like grin, but in her control it was less playful and more cruel.

"Now, now, am I not allowed to visit you,  _ma chérie_?" She purred, craning her neck so that their noses were inches apart. "What kind of lover would that make me?"

Angela recoiled at that word.

Just who was this woman? It wasn't Amélie Lacroix; Amélie wasn't a killer, Amélie wasn't this sadistic.

If it wasn't Amélie.. then why did Widowmaker think they were involved, or was this just some big ploy?

Angela felt more like a plaything for Widowmaker than a lover anyway.

"Y-you're not.. my," The blonde couldn't help but stutter, the closeness of Widowmaker and her malicious disposition igniting an instinctive fear within Angela.

The doctor inhaled shakily, which the Widowmaker observed in wicked amusement.

"You are not my Amélie Lacroix."

In an instant the Widowmaker's free hand snapped upward to cup the doctor's chin. Her nails dug into Angela's skin, forcibly pulling their faces closer.

"Is that so?" Widowmaker hummed, her intense golden eyes boring into Angela's. "I remember quite distinctly that  _you_  are mine. This is a bit of a paradox we have here, doctor."

 _She remembers?_  Talon had warped the Amélie Lacroix that Angela had once loved beyond recognition, but why would they leave a memory such as that intact?

This was all far to confusing for her right now…

Sliding her eyes shut, Angela drew in a heavy breath in the Widowmaker's hold, her chest swelling against the other woman's middle.

"I do not know you." She said languidly.

" _Ugh_." The Widowmaker growled at her, throwing the doctor's head back with how harshly she removed her hand from Angela's chin. She stepped back, an expression of disgust twisting her face.

Well, it wasn't entirely disgust. The Widowmaker also looked rather frustrated.

 _Frustrated?_  Angela pondering tiredly, watching as the assassin turned to the door.

The Widowmaker slipped out without another word, leaving the doctor to look vacantly at the space she had once occupied.

...What Angela wouldn't give to understand what was going on it that woman's mind.


	10. Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for the wait. I've been going through a depressive episode and I just didn't feel like writing, but here we go. Big thanks to everyone who stuck around, left kudos, or commented, I really do appreciate it!**

The Valkyrie was working marvelously. She could glide from whatever teammate needed aid to another, pinballing herself between them to avoid enemy fire.

With the success of her creation and ability to heal her teammates, the mission had been going rather well, Angela believed. Talon's attempts to steal whatever technology they could from this cybernetics laboratory had been foiled by her strike team: Lena, Jack, Reinhardt, and herself, and slowly but surely they were pushing the terrorist organization back.

Things  _were_  going smoothly, at least until a shot that clapped like thunder rang out, and obliterated her right wing.

Angela cried out in alarm as her forward momentum was interrupted, the frayed wires and mechanisms of her suit crackling with electricity. Air whistled past her, buffeting her bangs and blinding her with her own blonde locks. She managed to hang onto her Caduceus Staff, but her pistol slipped from her grip and clattered to the earth far below.

The doctor flailed uselessly for the first few moments as she fell, but quickly leveled herself out so that she would hit feet-first. The shock absorbers she had in her boots should break the brunt of her fall, which was quickly approaching.

The the roof of a nearby building was quickly rushing toward her, and the doctor squeezed her eyes shut as she finally touched down.

Her feet slammed into the gravelly surface of the building and pain immediately blossomed in both her knees. She faltered, collapsing onto her stomach, her right arm wedged between herself and the roof.

Hissing through her teeth, Angela pushed into her right arm to try to lift herself up, wincing as discomfort shot down her legs whenever she moved.

Suddenly, she was aware of the light footsteps crunching over the roof in her direction.

Struggling to prop herself upright, Angela froze when someone's boot touched her right between the shoulder blades. She was promptly slammed back down when its owner shifted their weight into it.

"Aw..." A chillingly familiar voice drawled above her. "Poor angel. It looks like your wings have been clipped."

Angela whimpered in both parts pain and fear, her right arm crushed between her own chest and the roof, and her legs aching. The severed end of her right wing continued to spark with tendrils of energy, twitching weakly on her back.

"A-Amélie..?" She gasped, turning her head so that her check was pressed against the roof and she could look up at the assassin looming over her.

The Widowmaker took her foot off the doctor, a scoff curling her lips as she slung her rifle casually across her shoulders. "Amélie Lacroix is dead. The Widowmaker is here now."

Taking in a heavy breath that she couldn't have done with Widowmaker's pressure on her back, Angela didn't dare move from her prone position. She gazed up at the other woman from the corner of her eye, her lips pressed together tightly in response to her words.

"T-then what does that make me to you, if Amélie Lacroix is dead?" She questioned in a trembling voice, both from nerves and the ball of grief that was building up in the back of her throat.

Widowmaker chuckled lowly and melodically. "Make no mistake, dear doctor. Amélie Lacroix is dead, but I've..  _inherited_  her belongings, so to speak."

The assassin's lips quirked into that confident smile that used to turn Angela's stomach upside down with giddiness. Now, it flipped with dread.

"So that's all I am to you? A possession? A plaything?" Angela demanded, her emotions getting the better of her. Anger was evident in her voice, and the Widowmaker's eyebrows arched at its presence.

Her smirk melted away, a strangely solemn expression taking over.

"Mmm.. not quite." The Widowmaker replied, and Angela was feeling brave enough to maneuver herself around, so that she was on her back and could properly meet the assassin's eyes.

"You're more of a.." Widowmaker's head tilted, her piercing golden eyes cutting into the doctor. "...A catalyst. You make me feel..  _something_." The assassin used her free hand's pointer finger to tap at her chin. "I thought they had erased all emotion, but you incite something within me, doctor."

 _What?_  With her lips parted in shock, Angela's mind raced to process the words that she was hearing.

Was there actually a way for her to recover the Amélie she had once known and loved from the Widowmaker's warped psyche? Was Amélie still in there somewhere? Could Angela coax her out again?

"I.. make you... feel?" She spoke slowly, most likely misty-eyed with how disoriented with pain she was currently.

Widowmaker shrugged her rifle off of her shoulders and tossed it to the surface of the roof. Angela watched the weapon skitter over the gravel just a couple of feet away as the assassin positioned herself right over the blonde. She dropped down and straddled Angela, capturing the doctor's wrists in her hands and pinning her to the roof completely.

Angela gasped in alarm at the sudden development, instinctively struggling against Widowmaker until the other woman loomed forward enough that their noses brushed.

"You make me feel..  _desire_." The Widowmaker purred, her cold breath against Angela's neck and erupting shudders down her skin.

Her tongue was turned to stone, but the doctor never got the chance to stutter out a reply the assassin. Widowmaker's golden eyes darted off to the side, to something Angela could not see. In one fell motion the other woman rolled off of her and scooped her weapon back up.

Seconds later a burst of energy projectiles slammed into the metal of the air vent on Angela's right.

"Dr. Ziegler!" Lena cried out, her chrono accelerator whirring as she blinked to the doctor's side. She let out another burst from her pistols, spraying the concrete behind Widowmaker as the assassin rolled again to avoid it.

Widowmaker leaped straight over the edge of the roof, the click of her grappling hook sounding.

And just like that.. she was gone again.

Angela, her heart hammering against her left breast, slumped back onto the roof.

"Dr. Ziegler? Are you okay?" Lena worried above her, dropping to her knees to cradle the doctor's head in her lap. "Did she hurt you? Talk to me!" The girl pleaded, her big brown doe eyes watering up.

Angela blinked harshly to rattle herself from her stupor, forcing a small smile onto her lips. She reached for one of Lena's hands, and squeezed it in reassurance.

"I'm fine, Lena. Thank you."

Lena helped her to her feet, which was no easy task, and the doctor nearly fell again when she put her weight on her legs. Her knees were definitely damaged from that fall, and so the cadet slung the blonde's arm over her shoulder so that they could both limp back to their teammates.


End file.
